


Lightsabers, Flower Crowns, and a Grumpy Babysitter

by shortinsomniacs (Liv_Golightly)



Series: Babysitter Marvin ™: A Three-Part Mini Opera [1]
Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Babysitter Marvin, Babysitting, Gen, High School AU, Marvin doesn't know how to deal with kids, Marvin is a dickhead, Shenanigans, but also he can be sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 00:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12544432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liv_Golightly/pseuds/shortinsomniacs
Summary: "I don’t have anyone to cover for me, and I need a cover to go on this beautiful lesbian camping adventure! Do it for lesbian equality, Marv! Or, like, do it for the money. You’re going to at least get ninety bucks. At least. In cash.”Okay, that’s definitely not a bad deal. Except for the kid. You’re definitely not good with kids.And that's an understatement.Marvin gets roped into babysitting Cordelia's neighbor. He is not excited. High School AU.





	Lightsabers, Flower Crowns, and a Grumpy Babysitter

**Author's Note:**

> this work is a thing i wrote based off a headcanon i submitted to falsettolandhigh's amazingly hilarious tumblr account. this is heavily based off of my experiences as a teeny tiny kid lesbian with my gay, grumpy babysitter, Michael. first in a series. i do not own Falsettos. all rights go to the creators.

Babysitter Marvin ™: A Three-Part Mini Opera

Part One

 

 “How do you feel about kids, Marv?” Cordelia asks, sliding you a Starbucks cup.

 

 “Thanks, Delia,” you reply, taking a sip.

 

You’re going to need this to finish your AP Chem work tonight, and your Calc work, and honestly fucking _everything_ —wait, did Cordelia mention _kids?_ Is this a bribe coffee?

 

This is a bribe coffee.

 

You narrow your eyes. “Are you trying to bribe me with coffee to babysit your demon siblings? Because I’m _never_ doing that again.”

 

Cordelia laughs. “No, no, not _my_ siblings. But there is a little girl in my neighborhood—she’s literally the sweetest thing ever—and I usually watch her, but Char and I are going camping with her family this weekend. I need a cover sitter. They pay really really well, too, like, fifteen bucks an hour!”

 

“ _Camping_? Delia, have you ever been camping?”

 

“No, but it’ll be fun! Plus, Char thinks it’s important for me to meet her cousins, and I just—I really love her, y’know? So I want to do this for her. But I don’t have anyone to cover for me, and I need a cover to go on this beautiful lesbian camping adventure! Do it for lesbian equality, Marv! Or, like, do it for the money. You’re going to at least get ninety bucks. _At least_. _In cash._ ”

 

Okay, that’s definitely not a bad deal. Except for the kid. You’re definitely not good with kids. Your sisters are one thing—and you can be as much of a dick to them as you want when they’re being shitheads, because you’re related. Which, okay, is probably not a good philosophy, but having siblings is like fighting a fucking battle sometimes. You’re not about to be a dick to a kid, but what if you’re accidentally a dick to this kid, and she cries, and _hates_ you, and you—

 

“Marvin, are you okay?” Cordelia asks. “You look like you’re gonna have a breakdown, dude. We haven’t even hit _October_!”

 

“I just—I’m not that great with kids, Delia,” you admit. “Why don’t you ask Mendel, or Trina, or hell, even Whizzer?”

 

She blushes. “I, um, sorta kinda already did. They’re all busy.”

 

“So I’m the last resort?” you grumble.

 

“Oh, come on, Marvin, can you _please_ do this for me? I got you bribe coffee, for Christ’s sake!”

 

You can’t help but laugh, and you throw up your hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, you win. What’s this kid’s address? And, um, what’s her name?”

 

Cordelia squeals and throws her arms around you. “Thank you thank you thank you! Oh, Marv, you’re the _best_! A true hero in the fight for lesbian equality!”

 

“Do you think I could add that to my college applications?” you say dryly.

 

Cordelia rolls her eyes. “Shut up, Marv. Anyway, the kid’s name is Emily. Emily Blumefeld. She’s six, and she’s the cutest, sweetest kid I’ve ever met in my _entire life_. If you don’t like her, you must be some sort of trash gremlin, honestly. She lives a few houses down from mine: number 221. Be there on Friday at 4:30? I’ll let her parents know.”

 

“Okay…what else do I need to know?”

 

“Her parents are great cooks and will leave dinner for you, so you don’t have to worry about that. Just, like, feed her dinner, and play with her, and put her to bed. She goes to bed early, and you basically can spend the rest of the time watching Netflix til her parents get home. So you’re getting paid partially for childcare, and also for watching Netflix.”

 

So, basically what you do with your younger sisters. Okay. You can do this.

 

You hope.

 

 

 

 

At 4:30, you park your beat up Beetle on the street outside of 221 Lapine Avenue. The house looks almost identical to Cordelia’s: red brick and colonial style with a huge front porch and dark green shutters. You can see a trampoline through the fence, and you hate to admit that you get kinda excited about it. You hope the kid—Emily, you remind yourself—will want to play on it. You’ve always wanted one, but your parents were afraid that you and your sisters would break a bone or die or something, so you never got one.

 

Taking a deep breath, you lock the car and trudge up the driveway. Why are you freaking out about taking care of a _six-year-old_ , for Christ’s sake? It’s not like you don’t know how to do this. As the oldest kid, you’re also the designated family babysitter, much to your displeasure.

 

Okay, actually, it’s not that bad. Your sisters are absolute sweethearts and you love them—except when you’re stuck watching their asses and have to miss the premiere of _The Force Awakens_. (Are you still lowkey bitter about it? _Yes_.)

 

And, hey, look at that, you’re at the front door.

 

You press the doorbell, and you hear the chime echo, and then the click-clack of high-heeled footsteps. The door opens, and you’re greeted by a tall, willowy woman with curly red hair. She smiles.

“Oh, you must be Marvin!” she says, stepping aside. “Come on in! Cordelia’s told us all about you. Thank you for coming tonight; we really appreciate it.”

 

“It wasn’t any trouble, Mrs. Blumefeld,” you reply.

 

“Please, call me Christina. My husband, Damian, is around here somewhere! Anyway, we should be home around 11:30 or so. Emily goes to bed at 8:30, and you’re free to use Netflix or watch whatever you want until we get back. What else? We’ve got dinner in the fridge all set up for you and Emily—are you all right with linguine?”

 

“That’s perfect,” you grin.

 

“Great! And feel free to help yourself to anything! The emergency numbers and WiFi password are on the fridge. Here, let me give you my cell phone number—”

 

As she types her number into your phone, an enormously fluffy Bernese Mountain Dog comes trotting into the kitchen. You’re not one for dogs, admittedly, but this dog is kinda cute.

 

“Oh, this is Bea,” Christina says, reaching down to scratch her behind the ears. “She’s three years old. She’s very calm, so you shouldn’t have anything to worry about. Emily will feed her before dinner. And speaking of Emily—wherever you find Bea, you’ll probably find Emily.”

 

Emily, however, does not appear.

 

Christina checks her watch. “Oh, we should get going! Damian, honey, we need to leave!”

Mr. Blumefeld descends, and you’re briefly introduced to him. Then, Christina reminds you that you can call her if you need anything, and they leave arm-in-arm.

 

The house is silent. And Emily…um, well, you don’t know where she is.

 

Maybe you should, like, find the kid. Yeah. That’s a good start. You glance at Bea, who is lying in a patch of sunlight on the kitchen floor. “Bea, where can I find this kid?”

 

If a dog could have a total bitch face, Bea does. This dog is fucking judging you.

 

_I don’t know where the kid is, dipshit,_ she seems to say. _Maybe you could use your brilliant powers of observation and_ find _her, like, y’know, you’re supposed to._

“Yeah, well, fuck you, too, Bea,” you grumble.

 

_I like Cordelia much better. Now, maybe you should find Emily, like a responsible goddamn adult._

 

You glare at the dog. “Shut up.”

 

Bea gets up and trots away, leaving you alone in the kitchen. Jesus, you need to get a grip. And, like, find Emily before she electrocutes herself or something. So you step out of the kitchen and start down the hallway. The kid’s gotta be _somewhere_ in the house!

 

“Uh, Emily?” you call. “Emily, where are you?”

 

Your voice echoes in the silent hallway. Great.

 

You check in each room, finding no trace of her. The house isn’t _that_ big! Where the hell could she possibly be? She’s not in the bathroom, the dining room, the home office, or the den. Is she upstairs? Maybe she’s upstairs. Ugh, you’ve gotta find her before she electrocutes herself. Why is she hiding? Oh, God, what if she’s already electrocuted herself? _Fuck._ You _need_ to find her.

 

“Emily?” you call again. “Come on, kiddo, you don’t need to hide. I don’t bite, I promise.”

 

You’re about to head upstairs when you notice a slight movement out of the corner of your eye. You turn. And there’s Emily, pressed in the corner of the living room.

 

She is so tiny, you’re not even sure she’s actually six. She’s wearing a pink tutu over her pants and has a flower crown in her blonde, curly hair. She’s holding a bucket of Legos. Cordelia was right—this kid is _adorable_. She reminds you of Deb, your youngest sister.

 

Shut _up_ , you’re not a sap.

 

Okay, maybe you are, a little. But hey, you’re nowhere near as sappy as Mendel or Trina, that’s for sure!

 

“There you are!” you exclaim, exasperated. “I was looking all over for you! _Why_ were you hiding?”

 

Her blue eyes widen, and she presses herself further into the wall. Her lip gives a slight tremble.

 

_Oh, fuck._

 

You sigh and uncross your arms, rubbing awkwardly at the back of your neck. “I—I’m sorry, kiddo. I didn’t mean to snap. I just got kinda worried when I couldn’t find you.”

 

She still looks vaguely like a deer in headlights. What’s so scary about you, anyway? Sure, you have a resting bitch face, and you’re like vaguely tall, but—oh. You must seem like a goddamn _giant_ to her.

 

Carefully, you kneel in front of her so you’re more on her level. Some of the tension releases from her shoulders. Good. You’re not sure if you can deal with crying.

 

“My name’s Marvin,” you say, taking care to make your voice much gentler. “It’s nice to meet you.” You hold out a hand for her to shake. She studies your face for a bit, but you guess she decides that you’re okay, because she gives a small nod and cautiously shakes your hand.

 

Marvin versus a six-year-old: are you gonna survive the night?

 

“So,” you begin, scratching the back of your head awkwardly, “what do you wanna do?”

Emily shrugs, not saying a word.

 

You glance at her bucket of Legos, and see a half-assembled castle in the corner nearby.

 

“You like Legos, huh?”

 

She nods.

 

“What’s your favorite thing to build with them?”

 

She shrugs.

 

Awesome.

 

“You’ve got a pretty big castle over there, huh?” you say, taking another stab at trying to engage with her. She’s not giving an inch.

 

Another nod.

 

“Did you build that all by yourself?”

 

   Nod.

 

_Oh my God._ This is _excruciating_.

 

“Kid, do you even _talk_?” you ask.

 

The deer-in-headlights look is back, and Emily’s lip wobbles dangerously.

 

_Jesus Christ, Marvin_! Whizzer’s voice sounds in the back of your head. _Can you_ try _not to be a complete fucking asshole for, like, five minutes? She’s a_ kid _, for fuck’s sake! Some kids are shy. Some kids are not._ Apologize _, dickhead!_

You take a deep breath.

 

“Emily, I’m sorry,” you say softly. “I shouldn’t have said that. I—I’m a little grumpy today, and it’s nothing to do with you. It’s not your fault. And I probably—okay, definitely—shouldn’t have acted how I did. It’s not okay to take out my, um, grumpiness on others, especially not you. Will you accept my apology?”

 

She stares at you for a long time. And then, finally, she nods.

 

“How about we start over? Hi. I’m Marvin, and I like science, and _Star Wars_ , and reading books. It’s nice to meet you, Emily.” You stick out your hand for her to shake. To your great surprise, she shakes it and actually _smiles_.

 

“Would you like to show me your room?” you ask. “Or your Lego castle? That sounds pretty cool; I’ve never made a castle before.”

 

She nods, and traipses towards the staircase. Bea the dog gets up from her spot on the floor and trots past you, following Emily upstairs.

 

Okay, so you’re getting somewhere.

 

Emily waits for you to get to the top of the stairs, Bea at her heels, and leads you down the hallway to the very last room. She pushes open the door.

 

You’re met with a soft green room. The floor is scattered with tutus, ballet shoes, and monster trucks. In the corner, you see a pair of green Hulk hands and a Captain America shield. Huh. Kid doesn’t discriminate.

 

“Do you take dance class?” you ask.

 

She nods.

 

“Do you like it?”

 

Another nod.

 

“My friend Mendel took me to ballet class with him, once. I wasn’t very good at it; I kept falling over! But Mendel’s a pretty good dancer. He taught me how to do a pirouette.” 

 

And so you stand up, turn, and fall flat on your ass.

 

Emily laughs. “You gotta keep your tummy in more, Marvin.”

 

She speaks! Fuck yeah, you got her to talk!

 

You grin and hoist yourself back up. “Do you wanna show me how to do it?”

 

“Well, you gotta start in fourth position….”

 

 

Surprisingly, you got the hang of the pirouette with Emily's help. She's so little, but she's a really good dancer.

 

"Try again," she instructs. "You got it last time!"

 

So you put your feet back in fourth position, spring up—and come crashing down on your ass. You can feel one hell of a bruise forming. Guess you'll have to tell Whizzer that you'll just have to keep your mouths occupied instead.

 

Emily giggles, and you can't help but laugh, either. Before you pick yourself up off of the floor, you notice something propped in the corner. "Emily, are those—are those lightsabers?"

 

She nods enthusiastically. “Uh-huh! Daddy took me to see _Star Wars_ , and then we got the lightsabers ‘cause I’m Rey and he’s Finn and we have Jedi battles sometimes! Rey’s my favorite, but I like Finn too, and Poe.”

 

“Wow, kiddo, you really _do_ like your _Star Wars_ , huh?”

 

She cocks her head. “Is that a bad thing? You’re sayin’ it like it’s a bad thing…”

 

You blanch. “Oh, no, no, no, Emily, it’s not bad!” You wring your hands a bit. “I just, uh, well—I’ve never—none of my friends who are girls like _Star Wars_ that much. Neither do my sisters.”

 

“But just ‘cause none of the girls _you_ know don’t like _Star Wars_ doesn’t mean girls _can’t_ like it. I like _Star Wars_ ‘cause it’s cool. And I like ballet ‘cause it’s fun. I like lots of things!”

 

You gape. Emily: 1, Marvin: 0.

 

You scratch the back of your head in embarrassment. You didn’t mean to make the kid feel _bad_ about liking Star Wars—but don’t little girls like dolls and princesses and shit?

_Come on, Marv_ , Whizzer’s voice sounds in the back of your head. _I know your parents are gender-conforming Reaganite assholes, but you know as well as I do that people can like whatever. I paint my nails, for fuck’s sake! And Charlotte slays hard in that suit of hers. Remember how bad you felt when you first realized you were gay? Don’t make this kid feel that. You’re being a dick, honey._

You kneel so that you’re at Emily’s level again. “I’m sorry if I made you feel bad for liking _Star Wars_ , Emily. I didn’t intend to. You’re right—it’s totally fine for girls to like Star Wars, or trucks, or whatever they want to. Do you—do you want to have a Jedi battle?”

 

Her entire face lights up. “Yes yes yes yes yes!” She goes over the corner and picks up the two lightsabers, handing you a blue one. “Now, do you want Iron Man hands or Thor’s cape? I’d offer the Hulk hands but then you wouldn’t be able to hold your lightsaber.”

 

You raise an eyebrow. “The Avengers have lightsaber battles?”

 

“Well, no, but they have cooler costumes! Have you _seen_ Thor’s cape?”

 

You laugh. “I think I’ll take Thor’s cape, then, kiddo.”

 

Emily squeals in delight and practically bounces towards her closet. She pulls out a red cape and her Captain America shield. You bend down so she can tie it around your shoulders, and you help her fasten Cap’s shield to her arm. She glances in the full-length mirror against her wall to adjust her flower crown. Picking up her lightsaber, she glances at you, practically vibrating with excitement.

 

“Let’s go let’s go let’s go let’s go!” she trills, running towards the hallway.

 

“Where are we going, Emily?” you ask.

 

“Outside! Jedi battles are always on the trampoline!”

 

Holy shit holy shit you get to go on the trampoline!

 

The _trampoline_!

 

You smile so hard your face hurts, but you don’t even care, because you get to go on the trampoline and this is gonna be _epic_.

 

          

 

When you finish your epic lightsaber battle, Emily declares that she’s hungry. So the two of you head inside, and you get a pot out to start heating up the linguine. It doesn’t taste as good reheated in a microwave, and it’s not like it’s complicated to heat shit up in a pan. Unlike Cordelia, none of your cooking has blown up. Or caught fire.

 

“Do you maybe wanna change out of your costume before we eat?” you ask. “I mean, you can keep it on if you want, but you might get sauce on it.”

 

Emily nods and scampers up the stairs. While she changes, you decide to feed Bea. Her food bucket is in the corner, so you scoop some out and pour it into her bowl.

 

“Here you go, Bea,” you say, gesturing to her bowl. “You get dinner, too.”

 

Bea is definitely glaring at you. _Yeah, I’m not touching that._

You roll your eyes. “I didn’t poison your food, Bea. You can eat it. Besides, Emily and I are cool now.”

 

_Good_. _You were a total dick to her_.

 

“Yeah, I _know_ I was a dick to her. I’m sorry. Chill.”

 

_I still don’t like you_ , Bea says. But she goes to her food bowl anyway.

 

The patter of tiny feet announces Emily’s return. You watch as she grabs a stool from the corner and drags it over to where you stand. Then, she hops up and announces, “I wanna help you cook!”

 

You scratch the back of your head. “Um, okay. Have you ever made pasta sauce before?”

 

“No. Mommy and Daddy just use a jar.”

 

“Well, do you wanna learn how to make sauce? That’s, like, not from a jar?”

 

“Uh-huh!”

 

While she washes her hands, you rummage in the fridge and pull out some tomatoes, garlic, and onion. And spices, of course. Your sisters are too young to cook for themselves, and you learned pretty quickly that only being able to cook three things didn’t bode well with them. After Whizzer got tired of you bitching about it, he’d dragged you into his kitchen and said, “Okay, then, we’re going to teach you how to cook.” Wasn’t that a _girl_ thing, though, you’d asked Whizzer, and he’d responded, “Honey, try telling that to Gordon Ramsay. Now roll up your sleeves. As much as I hate that shirt and would _love_ to see you ruin it, I don’t want to hear you bitch about how it’s ruined.” And so, under Whizzer’s surprisingly patient tutelage, you’d learned to cook.

 

Emily is practically bouncing on the stool as you bring over your basket of spoils and set them on the counter.

 

“So what do we do?” she asks excitedly.

 

You chuckle and ruffle her hair. “Well, how about you rinse the tomatoes and the onions for me first?”

 

Emily does everything you ask of her with such enthusiasm, it’s adorable. You sing absentmindedly while you sautee noodles in the pan and she stirs the sauce.

 

“I know that song!” Emily pipes up. “Daddy and Mommy sing it across the house to each other sometimes.”

 

You raise an eyebrow. “…you’re like, six, or something, how do you know about _Bohemian Rhapsody_?”

 

“ _Because_ Mommy and Daddy sing it _all the time_ ,” she repeats. “And I’m gonna be _seven_ in February, Mr. Marvin!”

 

You put your hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay!” You pause. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

 

“You gotta finish the song, Marvin! You didn’t even get to the Gailileo part yet!”

 

You laugh. “How about you sing it with me this time, then, huh?” You pull out your phone, scroll through Spotify, and click Play. “Is this the real life, or is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality….”

 

True to her word, Emily _does_ know parts of the song, even if she hilariously screws up some of the lyrics. Do the two of you sing it obnoxiously? _Of course._

 

 

The rest of the night is pretty uneventful. You print out some coloring pages of princesses and Avengers for Emily, and you found printouts from Whizzer’s “Color Me Swoon” coloring book for yourself. It’s ridiculous, but you have to admit that you _do_ love Orlando Bloom’s beautiful face.  After coloring multiple princesses, Avengers, and all five members—well, four, you remind yourself, because Zayn’s gone, and Whizzer’s heartbroken—of One Direction, the two of you settle down to watch _Beauty and the Beast._ Before you know it, it’s time to put Emily to bed.

 

“All right, kid, it’s 8,” you announce. “Time to get ready for bed, yeah?”

 

You’re so used to your sisters fighting you about bedtime that you’re kinda shook when Emily just gets up and begins to climb the stairs. No arguing? No trying to run away from you? No having to carry the kid upstairs, holding her over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes? Cordelia wasn’t kidding: Emily’s a damn good kid.

 

“Hey, Marvin?” Emily asks as you tuck her into bed.

 

“Yeah, kid?”

 

“Can you come back? To babysit me again, I mean? I like Cordelia, and she’s really nice, but I think I kinda like you better. You’re funny!”

 

You blink. She _liked_ you? _Seriously_? Huh. You hate kids, but in all honesty, you guess this wasn’t so bad. Maybe you’ll use some of the money you’ve earned to get Whizzer something nice. Your one-year anniversary is coming up, after all. Or maybe you’ll get him some roses, because he really does love them.

 

Your train of thought is interrupted by Bea trotting into the room. She jumps onto Emily’s bed and commanders one of the extra pillows.

_In your face, Bea,_ you think, smirking at the dog curled up on Emily’s bed. _Emily_ likes _me!_

_Ugh, whatever, Marvin,_ Bea seems to say. _Emily might like you, but you’re still a major dick._

“Marvin?” Emily repeats. “Did you hear what I said?”

 

“I’d love to babysit again, Emily,” you say, surprising yourself with how sincere you sound. “Next time, how about you pick out something new for us to cook?”

 

Emily grins. “Challenge accepted. Goodnight, Marvin.”

 

“Good night, Emily,” you reply. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me, okay?”

 

She yawns. “Okay….”

 

And so you shut her door and head downstairs.

 

 

Huh. Guess you’re getting a hang of this babysitting thing.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
